


Gold Teeth, Grey Goose

by Overdressedtokill (SkyeStan)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Rich Step Siblings AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:12:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyeStan/pseuds/Overdressedtokill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Lydia as rich step siblings.  They go shopping. They’re brats about it, naturally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gold Teeth, Grey Goose

Lydia checks her reflection in the right side mirror.  She scrapes away a bit of stray lip gloss at the corner of her mouth with her sharp pinky nail.

“Is this color too whorish?” Lydia asks.  She pouts her lips, as if to make a point.

“Kind of driving,” Stiles says, “can’t look.”  Lydia huffs.

“At the next red light, then,” she says.

 

Stiles gives her a once over under the red light, as promised.  She’s frustrated now, unsure of the shininess of her lipgloss and thus unsure of her own personhood.

“You look like a whore, yeah,” Stiles tells her with a cheeky grin.  Lydia frowns.

“Ugh, then I guess it’s back to the mall,” she complains.  She digs a fistful of napkins out of the glovebox and dabs at her mouth.

“I thought we were going out for food,” Stiles says.

“Eat at the food court, idiot,” Lydia says, “this is an emergency.”

  
  


Stiles unwraps his burger as Lydia drags him through the mall.  He’d been allotted all of 20 seconds in the food court.  He’s surprised he got that much time, all things considered.  Lydia’s gotten more merciful since her last lipgloss emergency, 3 days ago.

“Burger?” Stiles says, offering to Lydia after he’s taken one big bite of it.  His teethmarks are on the bun.  Lydia wrinkles her nose.

“I don’t eat that,” Lydia says, “you shouldn’t either.”

“I wouldn’t if I had gotten a proper lunch like I wanted,” Stiles retorts, “so there’s that.”

“Stiles, be serious,” Lydia says, “this is an emergency.”  She grabs the burger from his hands without warning and tears off a chunk of it with her perfect white teeth.

“Um, excuse you,” Stiles says.  Lydia shoves the food back into his hands.

“I’m hungry, shut up,” she replies.

  
  


Lydia has a reputation at Bloomingdales for making the girls behind the counter cry.  Stiles grins to himself as a cluster of salesladies chatter nervously behind the NARS counter, sending worried looks in their general direction.

“No one wants to help you, Lydia,” Stiles says, “probably because you’re a massive bitch.” 

“I demand excellence,” Lydia says, “I don’t see what’s wrong with that.”

“Yeah, well, you wouldn’t,” Stiles teases.  She shoots him a frustrated glare.

“Shouldn’t you be buying overpriced sneakers again?” she bites.  He places a hand to his chest, as if she’s wounded him.

“You’re calling  _my_ shoes overpriced?” he asks, “That’s hilarious.  You should try a career in comedy.”

“You should try a career as a clown,” Lydia retorts.

“Harsh,” Stiles says, “I can see why the lipstick ladies hate you.”  Lydia taps her fingernails along the glass countertop.”

“No, they hate me because I draw attention to their MEDIOCRITY,” Lydia says, making sure to say that last word loud and clear.  The salesladies jump in surprise.  “Ladies,” Lydia says, “I’m waiting.”  Stiles smirks, like he’s somehow part of this.  Better to be on Lydia’s side than on the other end of that glare.

“Try something pink this time,” Stiles says, “it’s the reds that make you look cheap.”

“I never look cheap, Stiles,” Lydia corrects, “I just look slightly less expensive.”

  
  


Lydia buys no less than three new lip glosses, all in varying shades of pink.  Stiles gloats about this until she points out that the new Ray-Bans are in.  He always has been easily distracted.

“Do these make my face look weird?” Stiles asks, preening at his own reflection.

“Your face always looks weird,” Lydia quips.  She’s not sure why, exactly, Stiles needs another pair of gold framed aviators, and has no problem telling him just that.

“They have red lenses, Lydia,” he says, like it’s obvious, “I look like Scott Summers.”

“You look like a freak,” she tells him.

“Whatever, I’m buying them,” he says, and hands them over to the man over the counter.  “Gimme your credit card.”  Lydia rears her purse back from him in disgust.

“Use your own, loser,” she says.

“But you always get away with spending more,” Stiles whines.  Lydia smirks at that.

“Claudia loves me more,” Lydia says.  “Not my fault.  It’s yours, actually.  For being such a little worm.”  Stiles grins at her.

“You’re a bitch, Lydia,” Stiles says.  He finds his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans, and hands his amex over the counter.

“So go live with your dad, baby brother,” she says back.

“One, I’m like, the same age as you,” Stiles replies, “and two, I love my dad, but his house is so…small.  You know?”

“I don’t, actually,” Lydia says, “but that’s me.”  He snorts in laughter.

“My statement stands,” Stiles says, as the salesman hands him a receipt to sign, “you’re a bitch.”

“You love me,” Lydia tells him.

“Legally, I have to,” Stiles says.


End file.
